


distance between us (this isn't how our story ends)

by astralscrivener



Series: abc's of klance [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), Established Relationship, M/M, The Canon Universe But It's My City Now, Yet Again I Find Another Reason To Put Keith And Lance In Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: j is for jealousy.He should’ve given Lance more dances, more time together, more in general.Or, Keith has a mission he may not even come back from, and has no way of telling that to Lance.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: abc's of klance [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/960195
Comments: 31
Kudos: 188





	distance between us (this isn't how our story ends)

**Author's Note:**

> _title from HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON'T by fall out boy_
> 
> hey gang!! it's been a hot minute but i'm back with a new oneshot, lovingly beta'd by [nicole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeneevee/works), in a session where we found out we really do just share the exact same braincell
> 
> context time!! another au where i don't know what the fuck happened to get them here but sometime between the middle of s1 and this fic keith joined up with the blades. that's it. disregard canon anytime after the pilot but prior to the s1 finale and just plunk yourselves down somewhere a year or two later. my city now
> 
> also i might write a second part to this one so!!!! who knows
> 
> aLSO ALSO the prompt is jealousy but there's not. as much jealousy as i originally intended. this fic evolved from an initial idea i had for the prompt into what it is now so like. i dunno i made this challenge my city
> 
> and yes, there is a reason That Name is spelled That Way (you'll see)
> 
> anyway have fun!!

**.:jealousy:.**

The code names were probably the worst part of the mission, in Keith’s opinion.

He leaned on the balcony on the second level of Carmizun’s palace’s ballroom, with a flute of some alien version of champagne, mostly full—blue-green, sweet-smelling, shit-tasting—dangling loosely between his fingers. Even with the awful taste, he had to resist an urge to down it all in one go, because this mission was giving him a headache and trying every last one of his nerves, and Keith was _tired._

Kolivan had sent him on back-to-back missions. No rhyme, no reason, no warning, especially not for the bombshell he’d dropped on Keith last night. He’d just returned from his last mission, run ragged, when Kolivan pulled him aside to explain that his next assignment was long-term, and that he was to be suited up and to leave in ten doboshes. He had given him a datapad with all the information, which wasn’t much. Apparently, he was supposed to find two contacts—one was another Blade member, and the other was someone who’d merely been labeled as an _ally_ recruited for this mission. This so-called ally would pull him into an _indefinite reassignment,_ which Keith supposed meant something dangerous, and something far more important than the lackey missions he’d been getting as of late.

A couple months ago, Keith would’ve been grateful for the chance to live up to a potential he knew he had, but now…

He didn’t get the chance to touch his communicator, to tell Lance where he’d be off to, to tell him to tell Team Voltron he wouldn’t be home for a while. He was simply suited back up and shipped off to this destination: a ball, where his other two contacts were supposed to be in attendance. The both of them had code names, important for the protection of their identities in case the information was compromised, but frustrating for Keith, who _sucked_ at doublespeak.

Their names were Crimson Trigger and Terrabyte. Both names conjured up images in his head. Terrabyte was easier, less threatening. It reminded Keith of a hacker of sorts, and his idea of hackers usually called to mind people like the Holt siblings: sneaky and small and wiry, more used to sticking to the shadows than being on the front lines, guns blazing. Crimson Trigger was the complete opposite—Crimson Trigger made Keith uneasy, made Keith think of hulking beasts with guns strapped to their backs. Maybe he was dealing with a turncoat Galra commander, someone four times his size with no qualms about crushing him if Keith so much as looked at them wrong.

_Patience. Focus._

Keith downed a sizable sip of the champagne, gagged, shuddered, set his flute down on the railing running around the balcony, and then abandoned it. He would have to talk to people and find Crimson Trigger and Terrabyte eventually—no time like the present, then.

He made his way down a winding staircase that clung to the wall, ran around the ballroom and gave him a decent view of the guests in attendance: diplomats in more conservative formalwear, royals in garish suits and gowns, alien guests in varying states of dress, from the bare minimum to over-the-top. Keith himself fell somewhere in that comfortable middle. Or, at least, comfortable in the sense that he didn’t stick out in either direction. He’d wrestled his hair back, put on a black shirt and pants, and topped it off with a dark purple blazer left unbuttoned and combat boots more suited for running and fighting rather than dancing.

He’d argued with Kolivan for a while on that one before Kolivan caved, short on time with none to spare.

It was also the distraction Keith needed to slip his Marmora knife underneath the back of his suit jacket and call it a day.

So far, he’d felt no urge to pull it, no situation so threatening he feared for his life—just the impending doom of social interaction with utter strangers, trying to skirt around a truth that would be so much easier to say out loud.

_I hate politics, and I’m possibly the worst person they could’ve sent for this mission._

Obviously, if he was here, and he was being indefinitely reassigned, then his being on this mission was somehow integral to its success. But that still didn’t pacify Keith, still didn’t soothe his nerves, still didn’t do anything to stop the worsening tingling in the back of his mind and the tightening knot of guilt in his stomach as he gazed at the partygoers before him and thought on the last time he’d attended a formal event in space.

It’d been with the team, so massive it was easy to get lost in the crowd, and get lost in the crowd Keith did—not on his own will, but with fingers laced between his, tugging him along, while he was powerless to do anything but follow. Not that that was a bad thing; no, seeing Lance’s face alight that night was probably one of the fondest memories Keith had, as they slipped between strangers who couldn’t pick them out as Paladins of Voltron after they’d ditched their Altean formalwear for something more subdued, ditched the team to steal what moments alone that they could.

Those moments were far and few in-between, and part of that was Keith’s fault, ducking out to be alone, to escape to an open balcony for fresh air and to be away from the roar of the crowd. Now, though, as he swept his eyes over the dancefloor, picked out couples and triads and various groups dancing together, regret washed over him, dark and heavy, clinging to the backs of his legs, settling on his shoulders, seeping into his lungs.

He should’ve given Lance more dances, more time together, _more_ in general.

He owed Lance an explanation now, too, but the communicator he’d been using to talk to him in secret sat millions, maybe billions of miles away on the Marmora base, tucked underneath Keith’s pillow, where it wouldn’t see the light of day for however long, the same amount of time Lance would go without hearing from Keith, and Keith…

God, if he even had a _minute_ to talk to him, to explain, to let him _go._

Dating in secret was hard enough when they lived in close quarters with the same five other people, people who couldn’t _know_ , but at least they’d been able to see each other and enjoy their relationship. The switch to long-distance when Keith joined the Blades was harder, but they were dedicated to making it work. But _now,_ with _this fucking assignment_ looming over his head…he could be gone for weeks, maybe months, potentially _years_.

And Lance would probably find out in some stiff statement from Kolivan—a mission briefing, emotionless text, another blip among the many in his periodic status updates. Or maybe he wouldn’t find out at all, and live day after day wondering what the fuck happened, where Keith went, why he _abandoned_ him…

Keith dragged a hand down his face, freeing a few of the bangs he’d worked not-so-meticulously to slick back and keep out of his eyes, and tried not to groan. It was his one moment to indulge in his inner turmoil before he scowled, squared his shoulders, and plastered a small, barely-interested-but-just-interested-enough smile on his face as he reached the bottom of the staircase, and moved into the crowd.

Kolivan had given no description of his two targets beyond their code names and the fact that one was a Blade, and the statement that when he found them, he would know—the most _utterly unhelpful fucking advice_ to give to someone who’d rather be anywhere but here. Fuck, Keith would’ve rather been in _battle_ right now than trying to track these people down.

_Patience, Kogane._

If Shiro could see the state of his thoughts right now, he’d probably try to kick his ass.

Then again, if Shiro was kicking his ass, it meant Keith had somehow come back into contact with the team, with his big brother and boyfriend and the rest of his friends, and _God_ , he needed out of here. If he’d been thinking more clearly in the moment, he might’ve tried to get Kolivan to assign someone else to the mission, no matter how hard Kolivan might’ve argued that Keith was too important to swap out.

_Important now, but not important a month ago._

The voice entered the back of Keith’s head unbidden, and he dug his fingers into his palm to try and block it out, while phantom heat seared his back.

Months ago, in the quiet of Lance’s bedroom, Keith finally found out how Lance had landed in a pod those first few weeks in space, about the fake Rover and the bomb and saving Coran’s life. He’d gotten to run fingers over the scarred tissue of his lower back and wondered, faintly, what that would’ve felt like. Wondered if his father knew. Dozens of times, Keith had come close to finding out.

And then he did.

_And it’s all in the past,_ Keith reminded himself stubbornly, willing his smile not to falter.

He maneuvered about the ballroom, navigating carefully, at first sticking to walls to see if there might’ve been anyone else studying the dance floor with his same kind of scrutiny. Eyes set upon him and then tore away abruptly, like he was too severe for them even with the smile he wore. Others lingered a little longer, like they recognized him from somewhere but couldn’t quite place where. Nowhere did he see a spark of true recognition.

_Fine, fine, I’ll go further out._

He only made it two steps before a familiar laugh caught his ears, stole the breath from his lungs, because out of all the sounds, all the laughter and talking and music, there was _no fucking way._

_Kolivan is actually just trying to kill me_ , Keith decided then.

He drew back, retreating toward the refreshments table, eyes glued to the figure they’d been drawn to: brown hair, slicked back to perfection; warm, brown skin, a smile widening glossy lips and fingers wrapped around someone else’s hand; blue eyes screwed shut and head thrown back in laughter; dark shirt, dark pants, bright tie, bright cape—a rich royal blue, spilling over his broad shoulders like a waterfall, clinging to his back and highlighting every crease in his matching jacket.

Too many thoughts warred for Keith’s attention: what the hell was Lance doing here, who the hell was he dancing with, did Kolivan know about this, _did Kolivan do this on fucking purpose?_ And if he did, _for what fucking reason?_

Keith couldn’t move back any further. Not only had he gone past the refreshments table, but his back hit the wall. He tried to turn it into something of a casual lean as he dug a hand into his pants pocket and produced the tiny data tablet he’d been given with the mission outline: _Find Crimson Trigger and Terrabyte. Follow Crimson Trigger—they’ll have your exit route and shuttle._

Exit from the party, entrance into whatever the fuck Kolivan signed him up for, for however long.

Keith’s fingers twitched and heartbeat quickened, familiar old ache rising sharp in his chest, urge like an old friend whispering in the back of his head to find Crimson Trigger and Terrabyte and run, and it would be over, nice and simple.

That wasn’t how Keith operated anymore.

Instead of carrying him toward the first balcony he’d pinned down earlier in the night, Keith’s feet brought him forward, because this was _Lance,_ the person he’d held through countless nightmares and mental breakdowns, who saw Keith in pieces at his worst and then stayed to help put him back together, whose smile outshone the rising sun and whose eyes glittered brighter than the night sky. Keith would march over there, they’d talk, they’d get this whole thing sorted out and Keith would get his chance to explain _everything_ , to give him a proper goodbye, and—

Lance was looking at him.

Keith halted abruptly, and a couple narrowly avoided colliding with him as they spun by; Keith ignored them and their disgruntled muttering, too lost in the eyes Lance turned on him. Those eyes lingered for far longer than they should have, as his lips parted and eyebrows knitted in concern. It took his dance partner snapping him out of it for him to come to his senses; Lance blinked, uttered a few apologies, extricated his hand, and then he was walking.

Forward.

Toward Keith.

And then he wasn’t walking so much as running so much as throwing himself at Keith, and Keith caught him like always, arms steady around his back as Lance gave him a crushing hug. They swayed on their feet for a second, as Lance buried his face in the side of Keith’s neck, as Keith settled his chin on Lance’s shoulder and closed his eyes and breathed in the moment.

“Keith.”

It escaped Lance in a breathless whisper as he drew back and gripped Keith’s biceps, studied his face and the dark smudges underneath his eyes, the new scar on his chin that hadn’t been there the last time Keith had come home. If Keith’s collar was lower, then Lance would’ve seen the very tips of the mess of scar tissue on his back, and the lump in Keith’s throat built, painful, impossible to swallow around. His eyes stung, and Lance pulled him back in for a second hug, this time cradling his head, threading fingers through his hair as best he could without totally undoing the short ponytail.

“Do you wanna step out?” An even quieter voice, this time; Lance’s lips were right next to his ear, all his words for Keith and Keith only.

He nodded, and Lance nodded back to him.

“C’mon.”

They pulled apart. Lance took a dramatic step back and bowed before Keith, keeping his head down while he offered his hand; it drew a smile out of Keith as he laced their fingers, and Lance full-on grinned at him when he raised his head, even if there was something wistful behind it as he began tugging Keith away from the dance floor, out of the ballroom, and into the entry hall.

Keith felt the temperature drop without all the bodies around him. His ears rang with the sudden loss of music and voices, rang until he and Lance stepped out of the grand double-doors leading to the palace gardens, and the drone of insects replaced the band.

Stars winked down at them not only overhead, but on all sides; the garden was on the second story of the palace, encased in glass all around, so transparent and so hardly reflective it appeared as though Keith could stick his free hand out and be met with open air.

Open air. It’d been a little while since Keith’d gotten to fly any sort of vehicle in open air, all by himself, not a care in the world. The times he got off-base were for missions, and the other Blades wanted him for stealth and combat rather than piloting.

Lance must’ve followed his line of sight. He stayed by Keith’s side, a grounding and reassuring presence as he squeezed his hand.

“Red misses you,” he murmured, without looking at him, eyes glued on the swirling galaxies in the distance. “So does the rest of the team. So do I.” He laughed, gently, bitterly. “They’re really not gonna believe this when I tell them about it later.”

“I almost didn’t believe it when I saw you,” Keith said, and finally turned to Lance. “What are you even _doing here?_ ”

“I could ask you the same question,” Lance countered almost immediately, and then shrugged, slight smile withering to nothing as he cast his gaze down to his feet and swiped a thumb over the back of Keith’s hand, back and forth, a soothing pattern that had calmed Keith down time and time again. It calmed him down now, as he relaxed his shoulders slightly, and remembered that this was Lance he was talking to, and as long as they were at each others’ sides, everything would be fine, no matter the circumstances.

Lance raised his head, gave Keith another long look and then tore it away.

Keith squeezed his hand back.

“I’m…not even sure what I’m doing here, to be honest,” Lance said. “Allura was being really cryptic about it. She said the team was sending me on this mission because I’m the smoothest talker out of all of us, but it was _Allura_ saying that, so I don’t think she was telling the truth. Honestly, I really think they should’ve sent like, Hunk. I know Allura can’t go because she’s the princess and pretty much the face of the Coalition, but honestly, she’s probably the _best_ choice, but since it’s _not_ her—” Lance coughed. “Sorry. I’m…I’m rambling. Point is, she wouldn’t really tell me much. I’m, ah…I guess we have new allies coming aboard the ship for a while. I’m supposed to come…find them, I guess? I think Allura’s purposely keeping me in the dark.”

Keith stared.

He didn’t mean to, but it wasn’t like he _couldn’t_ , but it probably wasn’t any help to Lance. To be fair, though, immediately shouting and trying to figure things out _out loud_ probably wouldn’t help, either.

So he kept his mouth shut as his eyes unfocused, threads weaving themselves together, converging on a point…

“Keith?”

“Kolivan sent me out on a mission,” Keith blurted, returning to attention, while Lance’s eyes widened curiously, and he nodded, a motion for Keith to go on. “I…he didn’t say much, just…he told me I had an indefinite reassignment, and that I was supposed to find these two people, and one of them would have my way out of here, which I’m assuming meant I was supposed to go with them and they’d give me my reassignment…? Does any of this ring any bells?”

It did. Lance didn’t have to say it; Keith could tell from the way his eyes widened further, and his mouth opened like he wanted to say something and was two seconds away from interrupting, and he clasped two hands now around Keith’s one.

“Did these two people have code names?” Lance asked hurriedly, grip on Keith’s hand tightening as he pulled it closer and closer to his chest. “Anything like, I dunno, Lone Dagger and Terrabyte?”

“Crimson Trigger,” Keith breathed out, and then, slightly louder: “You’re Crimson Trigger.”

Crimson Trigger…red, the _Red fucking Paladin,_ whose battle prowess lay in his marksmanship.

Keith was going to kill Kolivan.

Maybe.

“Lone Dagger,” Lance said, and then laughed incredulously, eyes watering as they alighted on Keith’s face. “I should’ve put the pieces together, holy shit.”

And there it was, that sunny smile, as Keith reached out with his free hand to cup his cheek, to trace Lance’s bottom lip with his thumb. Lance leaned into his touch, closed his eyes and let a tear break free and roll down his face. Keith moved his hand to wipe it away and stepped forward, forward until there wasn’t any space left between himself and Lance. Lance met him halfway, touched their foreheads together while his grip on Keith’s hand turned crushing.

“Kolivan told me I’m supposed to follow Crimson Trigger, because he’s got my indefinite reassignment. And you’re supposed to be taking two allies onto the ship,” Keith said. “I wonder if he already knew I’d follow you anywhere.”

And then Keith kissed him.

Lance kissed him back after a moment, once he got his bearings. He tilted his head, as more tears slid down his cheeks; he disregarded them as they glistened in the starlight, left a trail of constellations among the starfield of his freckles. His nose brushed Keith’s cheek, left a warm puff of air behind as he splayed Keith’s hand out against his chest, just so Keith could feel the hammering of his heart.

“I get to take you home,” Lance whispered shakily when they broke apart for air. “You’re coming home.”

Keith would have loved to blissfully collapse into Lance’s arms and spend the rest of the night there, to know nothing more than that he would finally see a warm bed again, he’d have a comforting weight pressed into his side and steadying arms draped over him, soft breathing to get him through his nights, nights he’d no longer spend alone, but—

“Terrabyte,” Keith seemed to suddenly remember, hand dropping from Lance’s face to his shoulder. “We’ve still gotta find Terrabyte, whoever that is.”

Lance sniffled and frowned. “If you’re the one half of the mission…then who…?”

“I don’t know,” Keith said, shaking his head. “Kolivan didn’t tell me _anything_ , except that one of my contacts is a Blade, and I just...sort of assumed it was Terrabyte, and I mean, I wasn’t wrong about that. Just about Crimson Trigger. Until ten minutes ago, I thought the Crimson Trigger I’d be dealing with was, I don’t know, some…big, mean Galra commander. Someone like fucking Sendak.”

“Nope, just me,” Lance said, finally releasing Keith’s hand, only to slide an arm around his shoulders and kiss the side of his head. “Just your handsome, suave, sharpshooter boyfriend, although you _know_ I could get a whole fleet to listen to me if someone handed me a microphone for like, five minutes.”

From crying to cracking jokes almost at the drop of a hat.

Keith missed this.

“I’m sure you could,” he responded. “Maybe Terrabyte’s an undercover Galra commander. Maybe you’ll get the chance.”

“You think so?” Lance’s eyes lit up. “Do you know how cool that would be in battle? Just Voltron rolling up with a bunch of Galra ships under their command? Do you know what that would _do_ to Zarkon and Haggar?”

“Probably piss them off,” Keith said.

Lance scoffed. “We’ve already done that. Several times. I think they’re just perpetually pissed now.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you, except—”

Keith saw the shadow before he heard the gun cock. He whipped around, shoved Lance behind him and yanked the dagger out from the belt hidden beneath his dress jacket. He came face-to-face with the barrel of a laser gun, and by all means should’ve already had his head blown off, if this was any kind of assassination mission. Then he looked down, and saw that not only had he drawn his dagger, but it’d already elongated into a sword, the point of which rested poised at the edge of his assailant’s ribs. One thrust would slide it home, one twist and one tug would finish the job.

Behind him, another gun whined to life, and then Lance shoved his way to Keith’s side, rifle barrel just long enough to rest against their assailant’s temple.

“You’re outnumbered,” Keith said, voice just the slightest bit unsteady. “Drop the weapon.”

He might’ve run the risk of being murdered right here, right now, but Lance had a hawk’s eye—their assailant would be dead, or at the very least unconscious, the moment their trigger finger so much as twitched.

But it wasn’t the finger that twitched.

It was the assailant’s mouth—the mouth of a tall, muscled woman, undoubtedly of Galra lineage just as every other Blade was, purple-skinned with darker stripes down both cheeks and even darker hair to match, a lighter layer down the back of her neck. She couldn’t have been full Galra—though the sclerae of her eyes were yellow, she had violet irises, black pupils. For the night, she wore a dark suit, the same sorts of shades as Keith’s.

“So you are competent after all,” she mused. “I’ll lower my weapon now, Lone Dagger and Crimson Trigger.”

“Terrabyte,” Keith and Lance muttered simultaneously, glancing at each other for only a split second. Then their eyes snapped back to the Galra woman—Terrabyte—as she slowly set her weapon on the ground, and then raised her hands to the sides of her head in surrender.

“I just had to get a feel for the people I’m going to be working with for the next few…phoebs, decaphoebs, maybe longer.”

Though she looked at the both of them, her eyes kept lingering on Keith, not with the scrutiny of a predator assessing prey, but…something else. The knot in the pit of Keith’s stomach pulled tighter again, even as he withdrew his weapon.

Lance pulled his rifle back from the side of Terrabyte’s head, but still kept it ready, muzzle pointed at the marble tile. One wrong move would end Terrabyte—Lance could do it in two seconds flat, maybe less. That had definitely been how he’d saved Keith’s life _several_ times in battle, and in meetings that were never supposed to become battle.

“I take it you’re Crimson Trigger,” Terrabyte said, turning to Lance, eyeing the rifle.

“Maybe so,” Lance replied. “Well, now that the gang’s all here, why don’t we get going?”

Terrabyte flicked her eyes between the two of them again. “Might as well.”

Lance swept his rifle toward the entrance to the garden, between rows of alien flowers in all shapes and sizes and blooms, past potted trees and overgrown vines. “I’m parked on the airstrip. Please, after you.”

Terrabyte put up no argument and started walking; Keith stared after her, rooted to the spot.

Something about her seemed startlingly familiar, and she’d looked upon Keith like she’d already known who he was. Did Kolivan tell her about the mission in more detail? Was she aboard the base at the same time as Keith, and he just somehow managed to miss her?

“Are you alright?” Lance whispered, coming up beside Keith, hand coming to rest against the small of his back, just above his belt.

“…Yeah,” Keith said, shaking his head. “That was…weird. That’s probably the worst way to introduce yourself to someone.”

“Need I remind you that you threatened not one, not two, but _several dozen_ diplomats—”

“They were committing war crimes!”

“I’m pretty sure the Garrison has a wanted poster for you up from that one time you punched Iverson, and probably a new one from when we kidnapped Shiro, not to mention we’re literally leading a _rebellion_ —”

“Okay, fine, nobody’s perfect, but _still_ ,” Keith said, as he and Lance started walking after Terrabyte. “There’s just…there’s something else off about her that I can’t place.”

“Your gut feelings tend to be right,” Lance said, following Keith’s line of sight. “Maybe it just has to do with whatever Allura and Kolivan didn’t tell us. We can talk it all over tonight, alright? And then we can get some sleep. You look exhausted, Keith.”

They both stopped walking, long enough for Lance to tuck some of Keith’s bangs behind his ear, lean in, and kiss both of his eyelids, while Keith’s brief spike in adrenaline slowly came down, left his bones feeling like lead underneath his skin. If this were any other mission—if this were a battle they were coming off of—there was no doubt in Keith’s mind that he already would’ve been passed out, while Lance carried him on his back and let his head loll onto his shoulder.

“I am,” he sighed. There was no use in hiding it, especially not in the face of someone who knew him better than he knew the back of his own hand. “Keep me awake. Tell me about what you were doing before I found you. What were you dancing with that other alien for?”

Lance grinned. “I was trying to find my contacts, obviously—you would’ve been a lot easier to find if they’d made your nickname Mulletman, or something. But anyway…”

His voice kept Keith awake long enough to leave the palace with little notice, long enough to make it back to one of the Altean shuttles parked and waiting out on the airstrip, long enough to climb into the co-pilot’s seat, with Terrabyte taking up the back and Lance taking control. It was only once they were adrift in the skies that Keith finally let himself nod off, all questions be damned. Later, he could find out what Terrabyte’s deal was, what the hell Kolivan and Allura were doing with this arrangement, why him and why now and why Lance, every other _what_ and _why_ that burned in the back of his mind.

For now, he was content with falling asleep, with his fingers laced with Lance’s, and a kiss pressed to the back of his knuckles.

**Author's Note:**

> well i hope u enjoyed that!!! i'm sleep-deprived and finally on thanksgiving break (read: i'm going to spend the week powering through the rest of nano and then doing two papers and studying for finals!!! we love college)
> 
> in the meantime, if u like what i'm doing here and would like to support my ~~suffering~~ ~~worst financial decision ever~~ college endeavors, consider donating to the [redacted bc i'm not about to get murked by ao3's TOS] i can't link here but is definitely linked in the pinned tweet on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/astralscrivener)?
> 
> also, follow [NICOLE](https://twitter.com/queen__eevee), who finally made a public twitter account!!
> 
> okie dokie i'm probably posting ABC oneshots K and L next so keep ur eyes peeled!!! later gang!!!


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